


flowers

by ultilitarianism



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hospital, Hurt!Hank, M/M, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultilitarianism/pseuds/ultilitarianism
Summary: Hank gets hurt on a case, and Connor goes to visit him.





	flowers

**Author's Note:**

> i'm 90% posting this because i really love these scenarios of someone getting hurt and somebody goes to comfort them and 10% because i made some hilarious line edits and i want to share them really badly
> 
>  
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> [EDIT: I was revising this and found a typo, “brihgt”. I don’t know how but the typo snuck it’s way onto here. XD it’s fixed, sorry]  
>  
> 
> also also please enjoy! i definitely did when writing and editing this

Hank sat up on his bed, sighing as he clicked through channel after channel. The hospital had nothing interesting on its TVs, just a few news channels, a weather channel, and cartoons.

He rubbed the headache that was pounding on his head, pressing his fingers hard onto his forehead. He tried to sit up straighter but the shooting pain in his leg stopped him immediately. 

The pain triggered the memory of the day before yesterday, when he and Connor had been chasing down a suspect. He remembered getting shot in the leg, a feeling he still wasn’t used to, and later catching the suspect in an alley. His trip down memory lane ended with Connor driving him to the hospital and taking him to emergency care.

Oh god, he thought, guilt washing over him. Connor.

The android appeared what felt like hours later, holding a bouquet of flowers with a small smile on his face. The nurse beside Hank’s bed nodded to him and left. Connor walked over to him slowly, a concerned look taking over his features.

“How are you doing, Hank?” Connor said softly, “I’ve heard your leg is healing well.”

“I’m good, Con.” Hank took the flowers and put them in a cup of water on his nightstand, blushing a little bit. “It’s not so well,” he shook his toes for emphasis, “but I’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Connor sat at the foot of the bed without asking. Not that Hank would have said no. “I hope you like the flowers I got, I didn’t know which ones to gift you with.”

“They’re great,” Hank assured him, reaching out to touch the petals. “Thanks.”

Connor nodded, letting silence fill the room for a long moment. Hank glanced at the news story displayed on the TV, watching a news reporter describe the very case that put him there.

Connor turned his head to see what Hank was looking at. “I interviewed the suspect a few hours ago,” he looked down. Hank could already tell what he was thinking.

“Con, it’s not your fault—” Hank tried to say, but Connor cut him off.

“Yes, yes it is, Lieutenant,” Connor blurted out, his eyes glued to the bed. “I could have blocked the bullet, had I been closer. I should have known that the suspect would try to harm you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Hank stated, trying to keep his voice steady. “You can’t blame yourself for that.” He immediately thought of Cole, realising that this what others had told him in the months after the crash. He bit his lip, furrowing his brows and touched Connor’s shoulder gently.

Connor stilled, taking a long time to reply. “I should have.”

“You couldn’t,” Hank said again, trying his best to convince Connor. “Don’t think like that.”

The news story changed, from their case to some road that got flooded last night. Hank forgot that it had rained.

Connor reached forward, hand slightly shaking, as he reached for a purple flower Hank didn’t recognise. He held its petals gingerly, before pulling his hand back. “I tried my best to find appropriate flowers,” he smiled as he spoke, “They mean a lot.”

Hank was glad to change the subject. “Go on.”

“These are bluebells,” Connor said, holding an indigo flower. “They represent kindness.”

“From who? I’ve been way too hard on you,” Hank chuckled lightly.

“I assure you,” Connor looked up at him, his eyes bright. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me since the revolution.”

Hank didn’t nod but pointed to the next flower. “These ones?” He pointed to white ones that looked like daisies.

“Those are chamomiles,” Connor said, picking one up and placing it in Hank’s hand.

“Like the tea?”

“Yes, they mean patience,” Connor’s ears were slightly blue. Hank noticed but kept his gaze on the flowers.

Hank rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the rather violent butterflies in his stomach. He picked up ones that seemed like lavender, but didn’t have the smell.

“Horehounds. Health, which is fitting to your predicament.” Hank stared at him dead in the eye, a smile threatening his lips.

“Whore?”  


“Without a ‘w’, of course,” Connor was holding back a smile, too. He had picked up parts of Hank’s humour over the past few months, despite the older man insisting he was a bad influence.

“Of course.” They both were smiling.

After several more flower genera, a term Connor had taught him, they reached the last one, light purples ones with yellow centres. Connor froze when Hank picked one up, though Hank preteneded not to notice. “What are these?”

“Asters,” Connor said, his voice going unsteady. “They were an aesthetic choice. They look nice.”

“Okay.” Hank kept his questions in his throat.

They moved on to conversation about other cases, and some prank Gavin had pulled off a few weeks ago. Connor didn’t leave until after hospital hours, only when a nurse ushered him out, insisting that Hank’s sleep was more important than their banter. Hank would disagree, by far.

He sat in bed for a whle before pulling his phone out, scrolling through his texts from Jeffery, telling him that he was sorry about his injury, and that he’d be on paid leave for at least three weeks.

Hank grunted and closed the app, opening a search engine. He was typing in “asters meaning” before he could think about it. He stared at the screen for a long while without blinking, redness creeping up his neck and face.

Asters, which were such an “aesthetic choice”, represented a secret, or unrequited, love.

There was no way Connor would have overlooked that. Hank knew he meant it for what it meant, and if he was honest, thinking of Connor liking him back was more than relieving.

 

The next morning was a Saturday. Connor brought in a bookbag, which jumbled around on his back loudly as he walked into Hank’s room.

“What’s in the bag?” Hank said first, the image of asters stuck in the back of his mind.

Connor was looking at Hank with that goofy smile the old man had grown to love. “I brought some board games. I thought they might help pass the time.”

Hank awkwardly moved his leg, trying not to hurt it as he made room for Connor. “You really don’t have to stay here all day with me, Con.”

“I want to,” Connor said, smile softening. “You’re the person who told me to do the things that I want.”

Hank didn’t say anything in arguement as Connor opened the bag on the bed, sitting crosslegged as he sorted through the contents. “Do you like chess, Hank?”

“Sure.” Hank ran a hand through his hair. “I know I’ll lose.”

“There’s always a chance,” Connor smirked.

“With how bad I’ll lose?” Hank watched Connor set up the pieces, giving Hank the white pieces.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” Connor waited for him to move, still looking at the board. “You’re always a surprise.”

 

Apparently, Hank Anderson did not suck at chess. He didn’t win of course, but Connor congratulating him politely was enough of a clue.

“How bad was I?” Hank said when Connor put the board away, crossing his arms.

“You’re a good player,” Hank rolled his eyes at Connor’s not-answer-answer.

“Whatever you say.” Hank leaned forward to see what Connor was getting next. “What’dya got in there?”

“I have some books,” Connor talked as he pulled out a few paperbacks. “I know you hate modern works, so I tried to find books you’d like.”

“You didn’t have to.” Hank didn’t try to stop the smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re stuck in this place.” Connor’s eyes faded over for a moment, his features blanking. “I want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

The butterflies in Hank’s throat felt like wasps, stinging and making him want to say something, or scream. No one had been this nice to him before the car acci—

I am not going to think about Cole, not now. he made himself promise that in his head. Connor was already visiting him, he couldn’t ruin it with his guilt over something that he couldn’t control, like he told Connor the day before.

Connor handed him a book, letting their fingers brush for a brief instance before diving into his own book, even though he could have read the damn thing in mere seconds. Hank smiled again without thinking, turning away sheepishly when Connor glanced up at him.

They read in silence until Hank couldn’t deal with the wasps in his throat. He set his book down, folding a page to come back to later. Connor closing his own to look at him.

“What is it?” Connor tilted his head. Hank swallowed.

“I,” he breathed in and out. _Why am I so anxious?_ “I looked up those flowers, the asters? I mean, I looked up what they meant.”

Connor’s jaw clenched, it was such a human mannerism that Hank was a little surprised. “I see.”

“Connor,” Hank said, not sure of where he was going. He reached out a hand and awkwardly put it on his, feeling the cold synthetic skin send a chill up his skin.

“No, it’s alright,” Connor didn’t meet his eye, jaw still tight. “I’m sorry.”

Hank wanted to throw up, the feeling of Connor being in pain because of him made him want to run into the bathroom, vomit, and stay there. He swallowed the ever so insistent wasps, and brought Connor’s hand up to his chin. 

“Connor, I wanted to tell you that I feel the same.” Hank brushed Connor’s fingers against his lips, giving it a light kiss. He hoped that he sounded confident. “I should have told you.”

Connor didn’t move, staring at Hank with wide eyes. “Hank, I. . . “ he trailed off.

Hank nodded, pulling him closer for a hug. Connor let him reel him in, letting Hank wrap his arms around him. He entangled his fingers in Connor’s soft brown hair.

“We’ll figure this out later, when I’m out of this place,” he whispered into Connor’s hair.

“Okay,” Connor breathed into Hank’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! please leave a comment or some kudos (or both) and have an absolutely lovely day or night


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